: My Man Sandy by Salmond James Bell - Short stories; Humorous stories; Scotland Fiction

@FreeBooksTue 06 Jun, 2023

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Mikaver--that's the scone-baker's widow, ye ken. Her auldest laddie's been awa' oot amon' the Reed Indians, or some o' thae ither lang-haired, naked fowk 'at never wash themsel's; an' they say he's made a heap o' bawbees. He's a snod bit stockie--a little beld, an' bowd-leggit, an' wants a thoom. But, I'll swag, the young kimmers that were at the pairty didna see muckle wrang wi' him. There was as keen competition for him amon' the lassies as gin he'd been a gude-gaen public-hoose puttin' up for unction.

Me an' Sandy landed amon' the first o' the fowk. A'thing was richt snod, I assure ye. Mistress Mikaver had the stair noo whitened, an' every stap was kaumed an' sandit, ye never saw the like. An' there she was hersel' wi' her best black goon on, no' a smad to be seen on't, an' her lace kep an' beady apron. She was a dandy, an' nae mistak'.

Afore Sandy got up the stair he manished to mairter the feck o' his Sabbath claes wi' the whitenin'; an' I was akinda feard Mistress Mikaver micht mistak' him for the scone-baker's ghost. But we got him made gey snod, an' syne we gaed inby to the ben-hoose fireside, an' had a crack wi' young Aleck. That's the son's name. Sandy an' him got started aboot mustaings, an' Indeens, an' boomirangs, an' scoots an' ither scoondrils, till I cudna be deaved ony langer wi' their forrin blethers; so ben to but-the-hoose I gaed to hae a twa-handit crack wi' Aleck's mither.

When I opened the door, here's as mony lassies as wudda startit a noo mill. They'd been a' deckin' themsel's but-the-hoose afore they cam' ben to see Aleck, d'ye see? He made himsel' rale frank, an' speer'd for a' their mithers, an' a'thing; an' then we got roond the ben-hoose table, an' had a fine game at the totum for cracknets.

Sandy juist got gey pranky, as uswal, afore he was lang startit. He's aye the same when he gets amon' young lassies, the auld ass 'at he is.

"T tak's them a' but ane," he roared in the middle o' the game; an' he grippit up a nivfu' o' the crack-nets, an' into his moo wi' them. His een gaed up intil his heid, an' gin I hadna gien him a daud i' the back, that garred the nets flee oot o' his moo a' ower tha table, he'd been a chokit korp in a meenit or twa, juist as shure's the morn's Setarday.

But little did I think what was afore's! Gin I'd kenned, I'd latten him chok, the mairterin' footer 'at he is.

We a' gaed awa' doon the yaird aboot half-past seven, to see a noo henhouse 'at Aleck had been tarrin' that efternune. He maun be a handy earl, mind ye.

"Tak' care o' your frocks, for that tar's weet yet," says Aleck to the lassies.

"Ay, man, so it is," says Sandy, takin' a slaik o't aff wi' his fingers, an' syne dichtin't on the tail o' his sirtoo, the nesty character, 'at I shud say sic a wird!

"Man, Aleck," says Sandy, when we were a' on the green juist takin' a look roond aboot's, "it looks juist like the streen that you sat up 'on that very tree there, an' pappit Gairner Winton wi' oslins that you'd stealt ooten his ain gairden. I mind I was here when he cam' doon to tell your father aboot your ongaens. You was a wild tyke o' a laddie, I can tell ye. Your father gae you an awfu' paikin'; but fient a hair did you care. He wasna weel dune tannin' you when you was roarin' 'Hairy Grozers'--that was a by-name o' the Gairner's--in at Winton's shop door. You was a roid loon."

Aleck took a richt herty lauch at Sandy's blethers, an' the twa o' them were juist thick an' three-faud afore they were half-an-'oor thegither. Yet wudda thocht they'd kent ane anither sin' ever they were doakit.

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